


I'll Protect You

by ElliotOrion



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Angst, Blacksmith Keith, Execution, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, How Do I Tag, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Internalized Homophobia, Knight Shiro, M/M, No Smut, Slave Keith, tags to be added as i think of them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-16 16:03:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9279116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElliotOrion/pseuds/ElliotOrion
Summary: “Y-you’re Lord Sh-Shirogane,” Sir Keith stuttered, beginning to shake slightly. “You’re the Champion. The Captain of the King’s guard. Y-you… Please, p-please don’t hurt me…”OrThe medieval au I am having too much fun with.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Requested by keith-and-shiro-were-dating on tumblr!

Shiro really hadn't meant to get stuck in the Lower Town after dark. Especially when his horse's stirrup broke. He had just been out on one of his quiet rides out in the forest, enjoying a long bath in the stream and a blissful nap on one of the big rocks on the shore, where the infernal hustle and bustle of the castle would not bother him.  
  
And then, on the way back, he had landed face down in the mud as he tried to mount Black.  
  
Now, he was finally getting back to civilization, covered in mud and left without his armor as he entered the dangerous part of town. He thanked the heavens that he still had his sword, but it was only a small comfort as peasants peered out at him from their doorways, suspicious eyes making Shiro's skin crawl.  
  
Would a blacksmith still be open now? He could, of course, wait until he reached the palace, where the royal blacksmith, Hunk, could fix the saddle. But that'd require another few miles of walking with a quickly tiring horse and a snarling stomach.  
  
No, he would much prefer a blacksmith here.  
  
"Excuse me, madam, but is there a blacksmith near?" Shiro asked a lady as she hurried a few young children down the road. She squinted her eyes at Shiro, pulling her children tight behind her. Shiro did his best to appear as unintimidating as possible, but with his metal arm and his girth, he knew it would be hard.  
  
"Go down the road and take a left after the tanners. Keith should still be at the shop, poor boy works so hard," the lady frowned, darting away with her children in tow. Shiro called out a weak thank you, but he doubted it was heard.  
  
So, he kept walking, following the lady's directions until he reached what was sure to be the blacksmiths. It was a low, open building, glowing from within with a light kept alive by torches and a powerful fire. The loud clank and clatter of metal on metal was splitting the air, letting Shiro know that yes, the blacksmith, was still in his shop.  
  
Thank heaven.  
  
“Hello? Sir blacksmith?” Shiro called out, hesitating outside of the large entryway. The clanging did not stop, which was to be expected with all the noise surely covering Shiro’s tired voice. So, he tied Black to the horse post out front and wove his way in, past piles of scrap metal and stands of tools that looked much cruder than the ones that Hunk had.  
  
He’d never been in a peasant blacksmith’s. In fact, he hadn’t been in the Lower Town much at all. As Captain of the King’s guard, he stayed mostly at the palace, planning attacks and strategies and training new soldiers. Before he’d became Captain, he’d been a nobleman, treated to a comfortable life at his father’s manor. Most of his time had been spent training or at the court, although, the court was anything but comfortable. In fact, he’d much prefer spending time in the Lower Town then making nice with old fat men and girls who didn’t have one independent thought in their heads.  
  
“Sir Keith?” he called again, finally finding the blacksmith. He was bent over an anvil, pounding away at a long piece of metal with a heavy hammer. Sweat was trickling down both of their necks, but probably for different reasons. Beating a red-hot piece of metal in front of a raging fire was a good, virtuous reason to be sweating.  
  
Seeing beautifully toned muscles rippling under smooth skin was not.  
  
Shiro shook his head. He should not be ogling peasants, especially male peasants. He was a Lord, a Knight, a Captain. He should have standards. It didn’t matter that Sir Keith was somehow as strong as he clearly had to be, yet still slim and soft, a sharp contrast to the disgusting amount of muscles half the other knights tried to form. It didn’t matter that the light of the fire was doing wonders to the panes of his back, illuminating scars all up and down its length that piqued both Shiro’s anger and his curiosity. He was a peasant, and Shiro needed to get a grip. He was just tired, and hungry. That was all.  
  
“Sir Keith?” Shiro said again, tried to keep his voice even and commanding. “I need you to fix my saddle.”  
  
“Go to the saddler tomorrow,” Sir Keith grunted. So, he did know Shiro was there. Had Shiro been one of the other knights, he’d have gone off on the blacksmith for not showing the proper respect to his superior. But Shiro was too understanding of that. The boy probably hadn’t even seen his appearance, and even if he had, Shiro was not wearing his armor or crests. It would have been impossible for Sir Keith to know who he was.  
  
“I’m afraid I need it fixed tonight,” Shiro said. “And it was the metal stirrup that snapped, not the leather. You can fix that, can’t you?” Shiro was practically begging. He really did not want to walk home in the dark, especially not as the lights were fading as people settled in for bed.  
  
“Sure. The question is, do I want to?” Sir Keith scoffed, still not facing Shiro as he drove the metal stick back under the bright coals. He smoothed his long black hair down over his neck, a surprise given the amount of sweat he had gathered on this warm spring day. Shiro would have thought that he’d pull his hair up in a ribbon. But Sir Keith didn’t.  
  
He did go around to the bellows, pumping them a few times to get the fire burning brighter, even tossing in a few extra logs. Shiro couldn’t help the flare of anger that rose when he was ignored. He was not used to the feeling of being dismissed, and it was infuriating that it was happening due to a Lower Town peasant.  
  
“You will fix my saddle,” Shiro snapped, unable to keep the Captain’s tone from his voice. Sir Keith froze, his beautiful back tensing as he turned. Shiro sucked in a quick breath, nearly taking a step back when the blacksmith came to face him, and he couldn’t tell whether it was due to the rage in his violet eyes or the beauty of his gentle face. Either way, he was in awe.  
  
“Listen, you came into my shop after dark and you have the dare to demand I fix your saddle? Get lost,” Sir Keith snarled, jabbing a calloused finger into Shiro’s chest.  
  
“Whoa there! I’m sorry, sir, I simply wish to get back home sooner rather than later, and it is a rather long walk back,” Shiro apologized, raising his hands in surrender. He didn’t want that rage turned on him any longer. It left a sour, ugly feeling in his stomach. No, he’d much rather see a smile on those soft lips than a growl.  
  
But he got neither. Instead, the small blacksmith gasped, and stumbled backwards as quickly as he could, nearly crashing into the fireplace. Shiro had to grab his arm to keep the boy from falling into the flames, fighting down guilt when he saw just how much terror filled Sir Keith’s eyes when Shiro’s metal hand touched his bare skin.  
  
“Y-you’re Lord Sh-Shirogane,” Sir Keith stuttered, beginning to shake slightly. “You’re the Champion. The Captain of the King’s guard. Y-you… Please, p-please don’t hurt me…” Shiro jerked back in surprised. Why would the boy think he’d hurt him? Did he really have that bad of a reputation amongst the peasants? He’d always tried to be a good and fair Captain. Were his knights causing pain he had no knowledge of?  
  
“I’m not going to hurt you, sir. Why would you think I would?” Shiro wondered, still with his hands up to show his good will. Sir Keith smoothed the back of his hair down again, biting his lip and shaking his head.  
  
“Never mind. Of course, I will fix your saddle. I should have a spare stirrup around here somewhere. J-just find a seat somewhere, there should be a stool by the door. Is your horse outside?” Sir Keith said, beginning to bustle about the workshop as quick as he could, determined to have Shiro gone. Shiro would be hurt, but considering the fear that still plagued the boy’s eyes, he couldn’t feel much of anything but guilt.  
  
“Yes, Black is tied up outside. Do you need me to get her saddle?” Shiro asked, moving outside to follow the blacksmith, who grunted as he undid the heavy saddle with shaking fingers.  
  
“No! No, it is fine. I have lifted much heavier than this. T-thank you, my lord,” Sir Keith said, brushing past Shiro with the saddle in his strong, scarred arms. He put the saddle over the anvil, not having a sawhorse to place it upon. Then he went digging around in a box to find a stirrup, while Shiro sat uselessly on a stool.  
  
He hated feeling useless.  
  
“Are you sure I can’t help?” he whined.  
  
“Yes, I’m sure!” Sir Keith snapped. He cried out happily as he found the box of stirrups, and began to dig through it.  
  
“Can’t you just use any one of them? I’m not picky,” Shiro frowned, watching Sir Keith mutter to himself as he kept pulling out stirrups and comparing them to the other, still whole, one.  
  
“If they are different sizes, it’ll throw off balance and your foot might not fit. I’d recommend getting the royal blacksmith to make a customized one when you get back. Ah, here we go. This won’t work at all when you have a-armor and heavy boots, but in your civilian clothes, you should be fine,” Sir Keith blushed, now finding heavy string, a thick needle, and a knife to cut the thread off the previous stirrup and put the new one in.  
  
“I will,” Shiro swore.  
  
“This is going to be a really bad job, my lord,” Sir Keith frowned. “I’m sorry, I’m not a saddler. I just make the parts, he makes the saddle. I can’t even guarantee that the stitching will hold all the way to the castle.”  
  
“It is fine,” Shiro assured the blacksmith. “Take your time, Sir Keith, there is no need to rush.”  
  
“Don’t call me a sir, my lord,” Sir Keith flinched. “I’m not a sir.”  
  
“What are you then?” Shiro frowned, watching the way Sir Keith’s hands trembled, the tremors only getting worse until he had to stop stitching to take a shaky breath. Why was the boy so afraid of him? Had he been hurt by a knight before? Was it his arm? Was it what Shiro was saying? Demanding why Sir Keith was so afraid would only make it worse, and yet Shiro could think of no better way to tell how he could stop making the boy so terrified.  
  
“I am just Keith,” Keith whispered. “Please… don’t call me a sir.” Shiro’s frown deepened.  
  
“Then you must not call me my lord,” he said with conviction.  
  
“What?!” Keith squeaked, jumping almost right of the floor. “N-no, no my lord, that would not be proper, I am- I’m just a blacksmith, sire, I can’t…” He looked up at Shiro, desperate for him to understand. But Shiro was adamant. If he couldn’t use an honorific with Keith, then Keith couldn’t use one for him either. His rank did not make him better than the boy. In fact, if his rank was what was cause Keith such fear, then Shiro thought his rank made him worse. If a knight caused fear wherever he went, then that knight was not worthy of protecting the kingdom.  
  
“If I am to call you Keith, then you are to call me Shiro. It is what all my friends call me,” Shiro smiled, crossing his arms to let the boy know that this was nonnegotiable.  
  
“N-no, I-I can’t, my lord. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I can’t,” Keith whispered, clutching his hands together to prevent their tremors, his knuckles and face white as snow.  
  
No, that would not do.  
  
“Then call me Takashi. Shiro or Takashi, take your pick. But no, my lord. Heavens above, I hate that. You’d be making me very happy if you dropped that damn honorific from my title. Either that, or you let me call you Sir Keith, like you deserve,” Shiro said, smirking at the little trap he’d set for Keith. It was not a bad trap, no, he could never do that to the boy. Could never do that to anyone, really, but especially this boy. He could already tell that he would never do anything to intentionally cause Keith pain. Shiro didn’t think he could stomach it if he did.  
  
“O-okay… Takashi,” Keith whispered, unable to look up at Shiro. But Shiro beamed.  
  
“Thank you, Keith,” Shiro smiled, looking down at the boy warmly as he took a deep breath and finished sewing Shiro’s saddle.  
  
His hands were much steadier now.  
  
When the stirrup was fixed and the saddle back on Black’s back, it was time for Shiro to go home. But he found, he didn’t want that. He wanted to stay. He wanted to keep watching Keith work, see the way he bit his lips and twisted his fingers around the hem of his heavy apron and how he smoothed down his hair. He wanted to stay in the warmth and light of the workshop. He wanted to talk with Keith, find out where he lived, who he loved, what each of the scary tools in the shop did.  
  
He knew he had to go home though, before they sent out a search party. If they already hadn’t. But that didn’t mean he had to stay away.  
  
“Keith, may I come back in a few nights?” Shiro wondered, reaching a hand out to stroke Keith’s cheek. The blacksmith gasped, fingers reaching up to touch the back of Shiro’s hand.  
  
“Y-you’d come back to the Lower Town? Why? I-intending to break your saddle again?” Keith chuckled, cheeks flushing red as Shiro began to stroke Keith’s skin with his thumb. He just couldn’t help it, no matter how wrong it might be. Keith was a peasant, a male, and yet, he was so gentle, so sweet, so cute. It didn’t feel wrong to touch him. In fact, it felt very, very right.  
  
“No, just intending to see you again,” Shiro smiled. “If you’d want that.” Keith gasped, staring up at Shiro with the most beautiful violet eyes he’d ever seen in his life.  
  
“Y-yes. Yes, I’d want that,” Keith stuttered, biting his lip. Shiro wanted to bend down and kiss him, he realized. He wanted to feel those soft lips under his and rest his forehead against the boy’s and stroke his hand through long soft hair. It was wrong, he knew. Everything his father and the king and everyone else in the world said told him it was wrong.  
  
But he really couldn’t care.  
  
“Then I’ll see you soon,” Shiro promised, stroking his thumb over Keith’s lips once before climbing onto his horse and galloping back home. His grin didn’t fade once, not even after getting cursed out by Haggar and King Zarkon for missing a meeting he’d forgotten all about. He couldn’t care less.  
  
Never had a knight been happier to break his saddle.


	2. Chapter 2

Shiro did wind up going back to the Lower Town in a few days, sneaking out of the palace on some excuse that he knew no one believed, but it didn't really matter. It might even be good for them to think he had a mistress. Maybe the half-wit ladies at the palace would finally stop flirting with him if they thought he'd already found someone he wished to be betrothed too. 

He went at night, praying that Keith would still be at the shop. But he figured that the Captain of the King's guard showing in a blacksmith's shop in the Lower Town would be suspicious, especially if he continued to act so... flirtatious. 

Which, Shiro had decided, he absolutely wouldn't. He had been tired that night, tired and hungry and aroused by Keith's feminine features. His mind had replaced the boy with a girl, someone he could woo and court and be happy with. When he next went back, he'd make sure not to allow any contact, to make sure the blacksmith knew that what had happened that night had been a-a trick. A mistake. One that could never be repeated, for both of their safety. 

Who knew what King Zarkon would do if he caught Shiro showing such affections to a male, and a peasant at that. He might kill Keith. 

Shiro couldn't let that happen. 

And yet, he was still riding Black down to through the quickly degenerating streets, carefully laid cobblestones fading into dirt beaten down by hundreds of feet. He knew it was dangerous to visit, knew he should forget Keith and that chance visit. If he was going to delve into scandalous affairs, he should at least do it with someone of status. 

But no one in the court had Keith's soft lips, or those brilliant violet eyes that seemed to track Shiro's every movement, searching for something that he could never know. None had his soft voice or his harsh words and that sass he'd been blessed to glimpse. Keith was smart, and independent, not relying on parent's wealth and dirty tricks to get a high standing. Keith wouldn't care that Shiro had money. He wouldn't care that Shiro was a knight, not once he got over whatever caused him such fear. He would love Shiro for who he was. 

Except, no, he couldn't. Because he was a man, and a peasant. Shiro needed to stop this thinking. He should turn his horse around right this second.   
He didn't. 

"Keith?" Shiro called, tying Black up on the post before moving into the shop. This time, he'd made sure to wear a cloak and some darker clothes rather than the summer wear he'd worn on his ride. He needed to be as inconspicuous as he could. 

"T-Takashi!" Keith gasped. "I-I didn't think you would actually... come..." The boy blushed, twisting his hands around the hammer he held. 

"I told you I would, didn't I?" Shiro smiled, warmth filling him as he saw that gentle blush coloring Keith's cheeks and ears a deep pink. They stood there for a few minutes, neither quite knowing how to act in a situation as foreign as this. 

"May I come in?" Shiro asked, chuckling as Keith blushed deeper. 

"Y-yes! Yes, s-sorry. Sorry, I don't... I don't have any food or tea or-or even a real chair... I'm not exactly... used to people just hanging around," Keith whispered, hands wringing uselessly as he looked around the room for something suitable for a man of Shiro's stature. 

"Don't worry, Keith. I came here for your company, not your hosting skills," Shiro grinned. 

"I don't understand why. I'm just a-a blacksmith. Surely the nobles and knights at the castle must be more entertaining, more educated. I can't even read," Keith winced. 

"The nobles are all pompous and pretentious pricks. You seem much more interesting," Shiro chuckles, noting Keith's slight smile even as he turned quickly to hide it. 

"I'm sure they are not that bad," Keith scolded. "They are trained for talking to men of your caliber. I am trained to be silent."

"Oh sure, they are trained. Trained to silence any true opinions that goes against the popular one, trained to quiet any shred of personality that doesn't fit with their status. You will never find a lady ready to discuss politics or war with you, because all they are trained to know is housework and childbearing. All the lords are rude and crude and cruel to those under their rule because showing care is laughed upon for being weak. It's ridiculous," Shiro scowled. 

"You are not cruel, Takashi," Keith whispered. Shiro blushed. 

“T-tell me about yourself, Keith. What do you do beyond fixing saddles?” he asked, hoping his quick change of topics was subtler than it felt. 

“I-I make a lot of horseshoes? And tools and um, light fixtures and a bunch of other metal stuff,” Keith shrugged, hoping up on top of the anvil. His legs were too short to touch the ground. Shiro shouldn’t have found it as cute as he did. 

“Oh. Do you enjoy being a blacksmith?” Shiro wondered. 

“It’s okay. It’s the best I’ve got, so I’m not really complaining,” he chuckled, smoothing his hair back over his neck again. Shiro wanted to ask him about that, but from the frown that came across the boy’s face each time his fingers brushed his neck, Shiro had a feeling that it would be an unwanted question.   
“Do you enjoy being a knight, my l- sorry, Takashi, I’m sorry,” Keith winced, looking afraid once again. 

“It is alright, Keith. Being a knight is fine. Better than being a courtesan. The one time they tried forcing me into silks I threw a hissy fit,” Shiro chuckled. Keith leaned his head back and laughed, and oh, Shiro didn’t think there was a laugh more beautiful than that in all the world. He realized then that he would do anything to hear that laugh again, to see that big smile stretch across a soft face. 

“I can’t imagine you throwing a fit, Takashi,” Keith laughed, wrapping his arms around a slim torso. “And I really can’t imagine you in silks.”

“Neither could I! It was truly ridiculous,” Shiro shook his head, smiling warmly at the mirth on the smaller boy’s face. 

“Did they try making you wear those silly heels?” Keith giggled. 

“Yes! I was horrified! I am plenty tall enough, could you imagine me another three inches tall?” Shiro cried, grinning as Keith laughed again. 

“No, I don’t think I could,” the blacksmith smiled. “You’d probably hit your head on the door!” 

“If I could even stand,” Shiro grumbled. “Riding boots are bad enough!” 

“The horror of riding boots is known far and wide,” Keith nodded, his smiled betraying his false serious tone. 

“Don’t you mock me, I want to see you try and wear those things. They squeeze your calves worse than ill fitting armor,” Shiro scolded, smirking. Keith laughed even harder, wiping away a tear. 

It was so easy to talk to Keith as they continued through much of the night, the smooth flow of conversation never faltering, never slowing. It felt so natural, so very natural to be with the boy, to rest in the quiet of the shop with someone who he never should have even met. 

But heaven’s above, how Shiro was glad he had stumbled into this shop. The more they talked, the more he got to see the real Keith, hidden beneath fear that was slowly peeled away. It felt so right to be near him, to laugh and understand the life of a Lower Town citizen. It felt so right, that Shiro completely forgot the fact that this was forbidden, that he should never have come back down, that he never should have let himself get close to the boy. 

Yet he had. And he didn’t cut it off. Shiro went back three times that week, and four the next. He kept finding himself down in the blacksmiths after every rough day, after every good day, after every day that he needed someone to talk to openly. 

But soon, shamefully soon, it became more than just an unlikely friendship. Shiro got too attached. He knew he shouldn’t have. He knew he should have left, should have stopped going under the cover of night, should have told Keith they had to stop. 

But he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. 

And now? Now he was breaking every law in the kingdom, every social standard he possibly could, meeting Keith in the woods on his rides that were no longer solitary. He knew that he should feel dirty and sinful for holding the calloused hands of the blacksmith as they leaned against a tree. He knew he should feel guilty and disgusting for trailing his fingers down Keith’s cheek and pressing their foreheads together and running his thumb over soft lips he would do anything to kiss. 

But Shiro didn’t feel dirty or sinful or guilty or disgusting. He felt clean and pure and soft and happy for the first time since his father had begun trying to find him a wife. He felt right. It no longer mattered to him what King Zarkon or his witch Haggar said. He knew that if kissing Keith was sin, then he would be glad to fall into hell, as long as he got to feel those lips under his. 

“Keith,” Shiro whispered as they sat against their tree near the bed of the river, with Keith cuddled close against Shiro’s chest, kissing his collar bone softly.

“Hm? What is it Takashi?” Keith asked, looking up with violet eyes that never ceased to make Shiro’s heart skip a beat. 

“May I kiss you?” Shiro whispered, pressing their forehead’s together and cradling Keith’s perfect face in his big hands. Keith gasped, the sound soft and quiet, only for Shiro’s ears as everything faded away until it was just the two of them. 

“Y-yes. Yes,” Keith sighed, closing his eyes as Shiro finally, finally, brought their lips together like he’d been longing to do since they’d met. 

And oh, oh, it was perfect, more than perfect, more than anything he could ever have hoped for. It felt like coming home, like fire and sunshine and warmth filling bones he hadn’t even realized were cold. It was like sugar and smooth cream and the honeycombs he had brought for them to eat. There was nothing about that kiss that wasn’t perfect.   
It wasn’t wrong. There was nothing wrong about kissing Keith. There was nothing wrong about kissing a commoner. There was nothing wrong with kissing a male. There was nothing wrong with it at all. No, it was right. It was perfect, and it was right. 

Keith sighed against Shiro’s lips as the boy reached up to wind his strong arms around Shiro’s neck. Shiro’s hands cradled the back of Keith’s head, fingers carding into silky hair and scratching his scalp for the first time. From the way the blacksmith nearly purred, Shiro honestly couldn’t figure out why Keith had been denying them both this pleasure. It was so gentle, so warm, holding the smaller boy close and sharing breath in barely there space as they kept kissing and nipping at each other’s lips.   
It was perfect. 

Then Shiro’s hand moved slightly lower, to stroke Keith’s neck. 

And he realized why Keith had been so adamant about Shiro never touching his neck or his hair, why the boy had always made such good care to keep the skin covered, either with long hair or with a scarf or both. He realized why Keith had been so afraid of Shiro at first, why he never talked about a childhood or a past.

Because on the back of his neck, was a brand. 

Keith was a slave.


	3. Chapter 3

Shiro froze, hand stilling against the rough burn at the back of Keith’s neck. Keith whined, nipping at Shiro’s lips to get his attention, to pull him back into the most perfect kiss either of them had ever shared. But he was still.

It was illegal to brand slaves. Had been for nearly a decade, and it wasn’t even a popular practice before then. If a slave had their masters brand, then they couldn’t be sold again when they stopped being useful. The only time they branded a slave was when they ran away. 

Meaning Keith was a runaway. Whoever’s crest was on the back of his neck was his master. And legally, Shiro would be required to return Keith to that master. He’d have to drag Keith kicking and screaming back to a place that had been awful enough for him to risk the danger of running away. Multiple times, it seems, as he’d had to have run away and been caught once already to get the brand. 

Shiro would have to take Keith back to being a slave. He’d have to take Keith from the blacksmith’s shop he didn’t quite love, but as he had said, it was the best he had. And now Shiro knew why he’d said that. Shiro would have to take him from that, have to take him from secret meetings in the woods and from bringing him little presents he’d bought at the market. He’d have to see the betrayal, the pain, the fear in Keith’s face.

“Takashi?” Keith frowned, pulling back slightly, only to realize that a hand was on his neck, keeping him in place. And that snapped the warm, happy smile off his face. The smaller boy began to tremble, his eyes growing wide with a terror unmatched by any Shiro had ever seen. He knew what Shiro was feeling on the back of his neck. He knew what Shiro would have to do. 

And he was afraid. 

“Oh god. Oh god, I need to go,” Keith gasped, choking on his panic as he struggled to get out of Shiro’s stunned grip. He broke free and ran to the woods, heading away from the city and nearly making it past the line of trees before Shiro snapped out of his stupor and ran to catch him. 

“Keith, Keith wait! Keith don’t run, it’s okay,” Shiro said, trying to be reassuring even as he grabbed onto Keith’s slim arm to hold him still. But Keith was stronger than he looked, twisting out of Shiro’s grip and nearly breaking the knight’s arm in the process. 

“No, Keith, wait! Wait a minute, let me talk to you!” Shiro cried, tackling Keith to the ground before he could run again. Keith began to cry, still trying to escape, even as Shiro pinned his hands above his head. 

“Please, p-please, please sir, let me go, please I need to go,” Keith sobbed, kicking and squirming as hot tears poured down his face. He was so afraid, and it was Shiro’s fault. He was afraid of Shiro like he hadn’t been since their first meeting. Shiro had worked so hard to chase that fear off the boy’s face and now it was back tenfold. And with reason too. 

Any good knight of the crown would take Keith back to his master, maybe even having some fun first knowing that there was nothing the boy could do. Shiro had never been like those knights. He’d never been the one to grope the female servants. He’d never been the one to hit a slave for failing to take off his coat quick enough. He wasn’t cruel. Keith had said that. Shiro wasn’t cruel. 

But whoever Keith had run from was. Those scars on Keith’s back, the way he’d begged Shiro not to hurt him that first meeting… Someone had hurt Keith. Hurt him bad. 

And there was no way Shiro was taking him back there. 

“Keith, I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not taking you back to your master. It’s okay. Keith. Keith, look at me. Calm down, please, you’re going to hurt yourself. You’re safe with me Keith. I promise, you are safe,” Shiro whispered, using his human hand to gently brush away Keith’s tears. He leaned down, pressing soft kisses onto salty flesh until Keith’s hiccupping sobs trailed away. The body beneath Shiro slowly relaxed. 

But the blank look on Keith’s face showed Shiro that he had only made things worse. He realized what this probably looked like to someone raised a slave. Being pinned and  
kissed by a strong knight, one who said he wasn’t going back to his master? Keith probably thought Shiro wanted to keep him all to himself. Which was true but…

Not like that. Never like that. Oh god, never like that. 

“Keith, Keith, come back to me, please darling, come back,” Shiro gasped, jerking off Keith the second he realized what he’d done. “Keith, I’m never going to hurt you. I’m not like them, Keith, I’m not going to hurt you.” Keith’s face remained slack and blank, but his body began to shake. 

What could Shiro do? Would holding the boy be better? Would the gentle touch reassure Keith that he wouldn’t be hurt? Or would it make things worse? Was it better to not touch him? What could Shiro do? He couldn’t let Keith leave, but he didn’t know how to make him stay. What could he do that wouldn’t hurt Keith more?  
  
Shiro decided to just hold the boy. Holding Keith had always made him happy, had always brought that content little smile to his face, one that showed just how safe and warm Shiro’s arms made him. Shiro just prayed that he could be that person for Keith once again, that he hadn’t destroyed the most wonderful thing he’d ever had in his pampered life. 

“Keith, listen to me, okay?” Shiro said, carefully scooping a lifeless Keith into his arms and leaning against a tree, just like they had been before, before Shiro ruined it all. “Keith, I’m not going to hurt you. This doesn’t change anything, okay? You are still the same Keith as before. I’m not going to take you away from the life you’ve got. I know now how hard you must’ve worked for it. You’re going to be okay. I promise. I’ll protect you. If anyone tries to take you away from me, I’ll protect you.”

“You’re a knight,” Keith finally said, his voice so weak and quiet Shiro only heard it because of how close they were. “You have to take me back. Especially because… You have to take me back. If he finds out you didn’t, he’ll kill you.”

“I don’t care. I’m not bringing you back. You left for a reason. You risked the danger of being alone out here, you built a life for yourself, and I am not going to ruin that for you,” Shiro said, stroking his fingers through Keith’s hair while staying clear of his neck. 

“Takashi…” Keith shook his head, tears welling up in violet eyes once more as he looked up at the knight. “You should just turn me in. He’d hurt you if you didn’t, but he won’t hurt me. I’m not worth the effort. He’ll just dispose of me.” 

“Kill you, you mean. He’d just kill you,” Shiro growled, outraged about how easily Keith could say such awful things about himself. Keith shrugged, resting his head back in the crook of Shiro’s neck. 

“Does it matter?” he whispered, voice dead. “I’m just a slave anyways.”

“Of course,” Shiro frowned, shocked that Keith could even say things like that. “Of course, it matters. You aren’t ‘just a slave,’ you are a person. You are someone with so much fire and passion and light in your soul that you could challenge the sun. You are so beautiful, so perfect, and the thought of that beauty being stolen from the world is a crime.” 

“And,” Shiro hesitated before saying more, “And you are mine. You are more than a slave, you are mine. If you died, I… I don’t know how I’d survive. Being with you has been the most amazing thing in my life and I’ve never been happier than I have been since I met you. You’ve made me realize and accept things about myself that I never could have on my own. I thought it was wrong to love a man, Keith. But you showed me that there is nothing wrong about it. You showed me there was nothing wrong with me except that I wasn’t with you.” 

“Takashi…” Keith shook his head, tears in his eyes. “Takashi, stop. This never should have happened. I never should have invited you back into my shop, I never should have gone with you to the woods so many times, I never should have corrupted you like this. You are a knight. You are Sir Shirogane, and any thought I’d ever had of being with you and being happy was foolish. I shouldn’t have let myself hope that I could be anything more than a runaway slave.” 

And no. No that wouldn’t do. Never mind corrupting Shiro. Keith had done nothing, done nothing but be the most perfect person Shiro had ever had the honor of being near. And he should never, ever have to doubt that. 

“Keith,” Shiro said sharply, cradling the boy’s face in his hands. “Keith, you are wrong.” 

And that was all he said before pressing forward and kissing the blacksmith with everything he had. 

There were no words to say. There was nothing but love. 

“Keith,” Shiro finally gasped breathlessly, pulling back from beautiful swollen lips and hooded eyes. “Keith, run away with me. We’ll go to Altea. We can get married and be happy there and I can give you everything you’ve ever wanted. I can take you away from the threat of Zarkon and you’d be safe. You could be mine, forever. Please.” Keith began to cry again, but this time, the tears were not of fear. 

“Yes. God, yes, Takashi, yes let’s run away,” Keith sobbed, kissing Shiro again and again as they both laughed and cried together. 

And then a shadow fell across their joy. 

“I’m afraid you won’t be running anywhere together,” King Zarkon said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Season two has ruined me. But not everyone has watched it, so please don't put spoilers in the tags. If you want to scream with me, join me at thedragonsdobite.tumblr.com!


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am really, really not proud of this, and I had to take out half of the stuff I'd planned just because I was struggling with writing it so much. It's rushed and written badly, but at least it's the ending. I am so, so sorry guys. :(((

For a second, there was silence, just two shocked figures sitting on the soft forest floor, the sun blocked out by the King of the Galra Empire. 

But then Keith shifted out of Shiro's arms, and knelt in front of the king. 

"Master," he whispered, voice cracking painfully. 

"Pet," Zarkon sneered, kicking Keith to the side with a heavy metal boot to grab Shiro's collar and haul him to his feet.   
The crunch of Keith's chest and his strangled whine finally forced Shiro's mind to work, finally forced him to think and put together what the hell was happening here. But god did he wish the picture painted was different.

Zarkon wasn't just here because of one of his knights being with a male. He was here because Keith was his slave. Keith ran away from Zarkon, and hid in the Lower Town, where almost no guards ever visited, where no one asked questions. The safest place for him was right under the king's nose. He could've lived his whole life there, living in that shop and being free. 

Shiro had disrupted that. He would not let Keith lose his freedom once more. 

But he could think of no other way to give Keith his freedom than to take it from him.

"My king, I wish to purchase your slave," Shiro said, gritting his teeth at the disgusting words. People could not be purchased like cattle. It was wrong, it was repulsive, it was vile.   
But if it took Keith from Zarkon, it'd be worth it. Shiro would pay any price to take the boy away from the king's dirty hands. 

"No,” Zarkon said. “The pet is to be put down like the bitch it is.” 

“No,” Shiro growled. 

“Yes. He corrupted one of our knights. He ran from his master. He is lucky death is the only punishment he will receive,” Zarkon smirked. “You should remember just how generous your king is, Shirogane.” 

“No!” Shiro cried, lunging towards Keith only to be stopped by a sword to his throat. He was forced to watch helplessly as the knights he’d trained himself, that he knew from young, grabbed the one person who mattered most to him. They pushed him forward, pressing a boot into Keith’s back as they yanked his hair hard, exposing his neck. A sword was placed to the smooth skin, the man holding it looking up at Zarkon for orders. 

They used to look to Shiro. But now he was shamed, a disgrace to the empire who slept with a slave. They could not realize that there was nothing shameful about Keith. They could not realize just how perfect the boy was. They never would. There was no hope trying to get them too. 

No, the only way Shiro was getting Keith out of here alive, was if they fought their way out. 

“You are lucky I am giving you this mercy,” Zarkon said disinterestedly. 

“What mercy is killing my lover?” Shiro snarled, studying the soldiers and their positions. He knew them all, knew their weaknesses and strengths. He could beat them all in a fight.   
No, the real threat was Zarkon. He could not beat Zarkon in a fight. The rumors of his strength did nothing to sum up his abilities. He was worse. He was a monster. Shiro was nothing compared to him. 

And Keith… How would he get Keith to safety when there was a heavy sword already drawing blood on his pale neck? He wasn’t even shaking anymore, didn’t even look afraid. He’d slipped into that same blankness that he’d shown Shiro when he’d tackled him to the ground, the same blankness that undoubtfully got him through years of suffering. 

Shiro just prayed he could pull him back again. 

“Why, I am saving you humiliation, boy! No need to ruin your entire reputation over a little slut,” Zarkon grinned, baring his teeth like a feral dog. Rage flooded Shiro’s vision, fire ripping through his veins. But he needed to be calm. He needed to think. So he forced it down, swallowed it like a burning coal. He’d stay centered. 

For now. 

“Sendak,” Zarkon began, turning to the knight holding Keith so close to death. As he turned, Shiro saw his opening, and lunged for his horse. Ignoring the heavy sword hanging off Black’s saddle, Shiro grabbed one of the smaller knives. He threw the blade, barely giving himself a moment’s relief as the knight holding Keith fell to the ground, blood rushing from his neck. 

The second Keith was safe, he let his anger swell to a crest and crash, taking with it every knight who dared stand between him and Keith. He could barely think beyond cut, slash, jab. Everything narrowed down to reaching Keith. His actions passed before his eyes like he was watching a party from the sides. Shiro saw himself grabbing his limp form, calling Black over as she ran down the remaining knights, swinging their bodies up onto her sturdy back and bolting out of the clearing, completely out of touch with his being.

By the time Shiro’s vision cleared, they were deep in the woods, his body huddled over a shaking Keith as Black slowly walked through the trees. 

“Keith,” he whispered, stroking a tearstained cheek, turned towards him. “Keith, it’s okay now.” 

“N-no it’s not,” Keith sobbed, brilliant eyes welling with fresh tears. “Takashi, why did you do that? He’ll come after us, he’ll kill you, why did you do that?” 

“I couldn’t let you die,” Shiro whispered, voice cracking. “I couldn’t imagine a life without you.” 

“But-“ 

"We’ll be fine, Keith. We’ll figure it out. I promise. If you can survive after being a slave, I think you can survive leaving the country,” Shiro smirked. 

“I can’t speak Altean,” Keith laughed, choked with tears as his fingers roamed over Shiro’s face, as though making sure he was real. 

“We’ll figure it out. We’ll be fine. I promise,” Shiro swore, kissing Keith’s forehead gently. 

“You were terrifying, Takashi. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone fight like that. Even Zarkon looked afraid,” Keith frowned, clutching Shiro’s tunic. 

“He should be. Because I’ll do anything to protect you,” Shiro grinned, although there was a wicked glint in it that caused a shiver to tear through Keith’s body, pressed tight to Shiro’s chest. But Keith was not afraid. Never afraid of Shiro. 

“I think I love you, Keith,” Shiro whispered, looking down at Keith like he was his world. But Keith wasn’t Shiro’s world. He was so, so much more than that. 

“Takashi?” Keith gasped, reaching his hands up around Shiro’s neck. 

“I think I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told you it sucked.

**Author's Note:**

> Come check me out at thedragonsdobite.tumblr.com!


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